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Topic: Aftermath (Open) (Read 2786 times)

The rubber soles of Cameron's boots crunched lightly against the rubble upon which he walked. His travel was...discreet for him, but there were few in the galaxy that did not know who he was. Fortunately, he drew surprisingly little attention. Theed, like the vast majority of large cities throughout the galaxy, was in a state of definitive unease. Those that walked its streets did so with purpose, conviction...fear. A smile touched Cameron's features as his silver-green gaze drifted upwards towards the distant remains of the Royal Palace. For a moment, he allowed his eyelids to slide shut as the emotional waves of Naboo's strife washed across his being.

The large Sith Lord's silent, joyful reverie was all but shattered by the sounds of approaching individuals. Cameron was quite certain the would-be assailants thought they were being nearly silent. Allowing the four men to arrive within ten feet of his presence, Cameron spoke casually, keeping his gaze focused on the ruins of the Palace. "I do not recommend your current course of action, gentlemen." There was no use of mind control or other control devices. Yes - he could have easily made all four of them kill each other but that was no fun.

The four man laughed amongs themselves as they surrounded the cloaked stranger. Funny enough...cloaks were indeed often used by force users, but they were used by homeless vagrants even more. Why? A cloak was cheap, warm on cold nights, and generally durable. That was the principal reason Jedi and Sith alike tended to wear them. Naturally, many Sith, Cameron included at one point, tended to wear expensive, flashy cloaks that hinted at wealth not poverty. "Big words."

"Shoulda spent more time countin' instead of talkin'."

"Four on one...let's just gut this guy and take what he has."

"This street belongs to the Gatcha Clan. You gotta pay the tax."

Cameron's smile had not left his face. Permitting the four thugs their well-rehearsed threats, Cameron lifted his left hand slightly and then twisted his palm upward. Simultaneously, all four men were hoisted into the air. Seconds later, the sounds of bones being crushed under immense, invisible pressure preceded the sound of said shattered bones collapsing to the ground. Lowering his hand, Cameron permitted himself a brief chuckle as he continued forward, intent on investigating the remainder of the city.

He much preferred the galaxy this way. Perhaps Naboo would be a rather...interesting start to his plans.

Octavia slammed her head against the safe bit of the controls board, groaning with unhappiness. It was quite obvious to the twenty something year old that she would've been better off not taking this mission. But then again, she'd known that the moment she initially accepted, several weeks ago.

It wasn't really hard to comprehend; she'd needed the credits. Back home as well as nearly anywhere else, without communication, it was chaotic. And when everything was like that, you needed money. How to get said money? Accept a mission to land a fucking ship in Theed. The orders had been very specific, an the crates filled her tiny ship up. There was a contact ready to meet her.

But landing was going to be tough. No one trusted anyone anymore. And who could blame them? People were forgetting how to bloody drive, and the few miles below her, everything was a big ugly mess.

"Are we going to get our payment if we just... I don't know, drop everything from here and hope it lands in the right spot?" she asked.

"Nope. We need to set this thing on the ground, in the spaceport," said Jill, her co-smuggler. And. Well.

"I can't even see the spaceport. Who says it's not blocked?"

"We can always open the containers and see if it's stuff we can live off for a while."

Octavia blinked. Jill had never suggested they outright steal from clients. Trick, sure. Bend the rules? Always. But... "Yeah, what the hell. Open a crate."

Deep into discussion… "What would you have me do?" Charlie curled his lip- curled it like he clenched his fist- tight enough where the skin stretched impossibly thin and appeared ghostly. "The lot still kickin' are desperate... but they're all the women and children have, missus. I cannot just send them against the gangs and leave the rest of us..." he trailed, stroking the barely there blonde stubble, natural upon a young man at the age of seventeen. His eyes seemed older, haunted, just a tad more distant than she liked. A cloudy blue. The russet-haired woman could have bet they shone bright not so very long ago.

Usually painted lips quirked, but bare… save the saliva from her tongue swiped only moments before. It was almost a smile. Something condescending. Wrong part, dear, the Master chided herself. “I can certainly try,” Anesia offered warmly, letting that particular emotion reflect in voice, posture, and lastly eyes.

A snort. Then, another. “A woman… hah.”

“What you are implying is suicide, Doctor. I cann-”

“What she is implying, boy, is genocide.” An older man stepped forward, his coattails having seen better days… but his glasses twinkled in the dim light the old-albeit, the grandest once upon a time- resort this side of Theed. He wreaked of politics, a stench so sweet it was nauseating. She supposed he would expect roses to color her cheeks at his keen ability to understand her plan where the others did not, for her to feel ashamed, scared. He would meet no such woman in this room.

The stares came slow and with confusion from the others, as if they were trying to recall everything she had said, down to the tone. She blinked those naturally long, dark lashes and met each of their gazes. The violet was light, almost a gray. “Genocide is such a...diminutive way of putting it.” Thin shoulders shrugged under a gauzy blue tunic, her voice drifting so that the politician may drop his name.And he did, silk tone and all. “Gentry,” he replied, fake-flicking dust that settled along his sleeve.“Gentry,” echoed Anesia, lofting that ever-renown brow of hers. It said without saying, challenge accepted. “They have what we need. Plain. Simple,” a wave of her hand and she set off across the lounge towards the rooms. “I need those supplies, Charlie. Gentry…” her visage darkened, her tone turned to stone, “or there will be no women and children to protect.”

The Sith left then, through the brown-gray archway. Roars from the other refugees sounded behind her just as the facade fell. A dark smile having replaced the hard line of her mouth.

“Three fresh. But, doctor...their bones.”

“Set and mend. Yes, the corpses.”

A pause perspired between the assistants, fear marring their faces, “They are shattered, all of them… every bone. Every body.” The provisional med-bay doors loomed just ahead, but she slowed, casting a glance over her shoulder at the sound of the gurneys rolling in.

Not thugs. Force-users.

“Curious…” Lilan whispered.

“Indeed. Verily.” Squaring her shoulders, Anesia set off again, in the direction of the once ballroom. Perhaps with a little more drive or purpose than before and whoosh, the double doors slid back to grant her access. Chandeliers shimmered from the fire, giving the massive area an eerie gold underwater appearance...experience.

Politicians and power… in the air. Then, there was her, winning a sick-sort-of-twisted connection and trust without the use of the Force. Curious as well.

Cameron had been fond of Naboo in his past. Many, many decades ago he'd entertained an estate not far from Theed. It was during a time where he was still...perhaps foolishly nostalgic for the beautiful serenity of his homeworld. Emotions as baseless and, ultimately, useless as nostalgia had long since left his retinue of so-called 'feelings'. In the decades, centuries past, Cameron had moved far beyond the true need for a very many material holdings. The wealth he commanded, even in the galaxy's current state of chaos, was daunting, yes. That reality, however, was probably the truest indication of his actual age. Priceless works of art and remnants of cultures long since extinct made up the bulk of that which Cameron managed to hold dear in any right. All of these items, rather safely tucked away on Corstris...the homeworld that served now as a fortress for Cameron's every whim and hobby.

Turning the corner by a structure that seemed to remain remarkably intact, the Sith Lord spilled onto the side of the main street leading to the Royal Palace. In the distance, he could see a few armed individuals. No doubt they were servants of whatever entity claimed dominion over the remains of the edifice this week. Treasure hunters had been the biggest result of the collapsing of the Holonet. They came from every corner of the galaxy seeking to profit from the continued destabilization of government control.

Naboo, a normally peaceful planet, was a prime target much in the way Alderaan no doubt was. Both planets commanded impressive beauty and a number of riches previously under the control of their respective monarchies. Cameron did not fault these treasure hunters, these thieves, savages. When had the majesty and finesse of criminal organizations disappeared from the face of the galaxy? He had hardly noticed...perhaps it was when they all morphed into governments, claiming to fight for silly notions of peace and justice. True, Cameron had placed himself at the forefront of such organizations on more than one occasion, but he'd never one his prizes through daunting military action. The blunt instrument that was a military campaign certainly had its place and its uses, but the Sith Lord surmised that just about anyone could command an offensive with overwhelmingly superior numbers.

His respect remained with those that maintained the ability to sway others to their cause with little more than a soft whisper and a light touch. The greater reality of Cameron Centurion's arrogance, however, was that he simply saw little reason to waste his effort in armed conflict with a super-majority of the galaxy.

Stopping within perhaps a hundred meters of the armed individuals, all of which merely watched the large, distant stranger with a mixture of intrigue and their own misplaced feelings of superiority, Cameron cast his silver-green gaze towards the sky. Extending his hands out at waist level ever-so-slightly, the Sith Lord rotated his palms towards the sky. Gradually, wispy clouds began to pool over the city of Theed, extending so far to the ground as to create a thick layer of fog. In short order, those clouds turned exceptionally dark, limiting the range of even the street lights to little more than a couple meters of faint visibility.

With the initial manipulation of the environment complete, Cameron lowered his gaze back to the horizon and walked forward casually. He'd every intention of simply walking directly past those in his path; sounds of their confusion and irritation playing like a pleasant melody in his ears.

The massive expanse of the ballroom was littered with the poor unfortunate souls, strung high with sheets, and the air was perfumed with a mixture of chemical and incense. Compliments of a Galaxy at war with themselves, of spoiled, techno-dependent fools. She arched a dark, sweat dotted brow and drew her arms to hug her rib cage. "Harvest the organs and begin exsanguination on the deceased," voice dropping an octave, even as the bay window's view held her captivated. Fascinated even and Anesia moved, the soft clicks barely there and lost among the sounds of distress and med-cart to place her inches from the glass.

She plans to kill most of us.

"I plan to survive. As should you," her irritation boomed and the voices stopped.

Satisfied with the reaction, Anesia focused on the gray-white curtain drawing before her vivid, violet eyes. Slender, sleeved arms lifted so her fingers could faintly caress the glass in slow, downward motions. The Master beckoned the moisture from the clouds, the low hanging fog created already until thousands of tiny pockets formed. Swelled and her breath was warm against the cool window. It was when she smiled, that the rain began. A steady, hard pounding that seemed to assault the ground and everything below.

For a moment there was a thick silence that weaved through the torrential downpour. The people of Theed had fled indoors, but she'd have almost bet that if she dare look, she'd find a shimmer of silver-green to be the last to cave amidst the storm. Dark, old magic danced there. Familiar magic. Dangerous.

Moisture kissed the Sith Lord's exposed upper torso as he casually glided through the thick, dark layer of clouds. In rather short order, a steady rain turned intense, causing water to dampen his rather inexpensive cloak quickly. Had he been wearing those he'd fashioned specifically for himself, things would certainly be different. Regardless of the seemingly immediate shift in weather conditions, Cameron's attention was without a doubt focused very acutely to what he was doing. The former Lord Imperator never claimed to be powerful enough to affect weather patterns as easily as breathing...on purpose. The shifting of environment as an effect of strong emotion was a different concept altogether. For the moment, however, Cameron's thoughts were...quite benign.

As soon as he'd passed the individuals foolishly standing sentinel outside the Palace, the Sith Lord permitted the altered weather to gradually subside. By the time he'd entered the reception foyer, Naboo's perfect climate had been restored. Stepping off to the side, Cameron allowed his eyes a brief moment to take in...the remains of the Royal Palace. Despite its external appearance, the interior, conversely, appeared to be in a...relatively decent state of repair. The many portraits and expensive decoration items were gone, yes, but they were but distractions among such a place.

Irrelevant anyways, Cameron needed access to only one thing. The throne upon which the monarchs of Naboo used to sit.

The cursing hadn't done her much good. For all the lack of communication that seemed to be a galaxy wide thing at present, people still had their own ships and weaponry aimed at you, especially when your own vessel didn't come with a self-conceal button. Jill had attached herself to a seat with the use of too many safety belts, and Octavia cursed in every language she'd ever heard of as the ship pivoted and silhouetted, trying to avoid the fire.

It had been easy at first, when there were a few seconds in between the fires. But now it seemed to rain on them, and all she wanted was a bit of stability so they could glide to safety now that they had actually managed to break through orbit without dying.

Problem was, she was the only one who wanted that. Whoever was shooting at them clearly had other interests, and their interests were gaining the upper hand as the ship vibrated, letting Octavia know they'd been hit.

Several times.

The controls were no longer hers to control. Releasing the safety belt, Octavia grabbed her parachute. "Jill, we need to jump!"

Jill nodded, grabbing her own as she peered one last time outside. "Maybe we should just crash with the ship. Everyone will want us dead anyway seeing we're about to crash into the castle."

There were those who collected, those who obsessed. Anesia is one such person. Material things were not her peccant pleasures, though she had a liberal amount of the things many covet; books, jewelry, clothes, furniture, property, artifacts. The list goes on. Instead, it served more as a frivolous front to something much darker. Jy'Vun was a connoisseur of life- body, soul, and mind- of the knowledge that created and destroyed it. Of everything in between. It went well past obsession. Possession. Passion. Power.

This one began inside, more of a debauched chicane woven, sang from the very sinner sent to help you. Anesia worked from the pit, core, center, soul until it was devoured and there was only a shell. Perhaps maybe… a puppet. Oh, but when she gave… that is for another story.

To create, one must destroy. To have new, there once had to be old.

"There are five more in bay two," she smiled, pale cheeks blooming a soft red. Partially it was the pain, the longing to be at peace, the sorrow she felt from the recently passed, but it was the last of their essence when she granted them release from the corporeal world that caused her milk skin to glow with rejuvenation.

Murderer, some would say. Savior, others.

Why, you say, would a Sith save Naboo? The answer is a simple one. It was home, the first one and she would finally have a hand in the rise of the capital when that time came. And it would come.

We have an intruder in the palace.

Stall him.

Centurion would find that local gang members were spilling into the broken palace as if someone opened a flood gate. Violence broke out, blaster fire erupted, and the Sith Master would find himself in the cross-hairs.

“Redress the gurneys, stock the supplies. We will have more patients before the night is through.” Anesia said it matter-of-factly, drawing the floor length white jacket away from her body when her hands slid to prop on her hips.

The breathing of thugs and goons-for-hire alike that knew nothing of true stealth.

The Sith Lord sighed outwardly as he paused his progress and retrieved the glossy black hilt of the lightsaber he'd returned to using. A weapon that was embossed with the red symbol of House Centurion - a House that had precious little significance when the weapon had been crafted so many centuries ago. Now, however, it was all but...non-existent. It was the way Cameron preferred things these days...his legacy no longer suffered the needs of a single estate to his name. In this chaotic galaxy...the first order of business would certainly be to see to it that any who wished to have any connection to him, official or otherwise, were deserving of the undeniable honor to be in the service of Lord Illuminus. Truth be told...he would prefer to have none, but he could not be everywhere at once.

By the time Cameron had finished his internal soliloquy, the first thugs had entered the chamber he presently occupied. The silver blade of his dual-phase lightsaber activated silently, devoid of the usual snap-hiss. Initially, the Sith Lord was content to deflect or redirect blaster shots that were, honestly, better aimed than he would have expected. A handful succumbed to the superheated energy of their own weapons being redirected back at them. However, it was but a mere couple of seconds before Cameron's entire form became little more than a blur of black, silver, and green. The use of the lightsaber was quite honestly an art form...one that the Sith Lord had practiced for some time quite fervently.

Darting from location to location, Cameron manipulated his weapon and the bodies of his opponents to absorb the blaster fire of their brethren. The Sith Lord used absolutely no force powers at this moment, the arcane abilities of the force were positively too good for such a...nuisance. This was not to say that Cameron's efforts were simply...easy. Sheer numbers alone insisted that a great deal of cunning and strength was required to prevail. Less than thirty seconds after he'd initially activated his lightsaber, Cameron deactivated the weapon. Dropping the heart of his last opponent which was still held in his left hand, Cameron stowed the hilt of his lightsaber as he wiped his hands free of blood and intestine on one of the more...composed bodies. Blood, however, did not so easily wipe away and residue most certainly remained.

At a casual pace, Cameron resumed his progress towards the throne room. The appearance of so many gang members at once...certainly gave the impression it had been a coordinated, directed effort. Who would see fit to send so many to deal with one man? He'd shown no aggression to those standing outside.

The Sith Lord's thoughts were interrupted by several volleys of turbolaser fire from somewhere in the city. Something was hurtling towards the ruins of the palace at a considerable velocity. Briefly, the force showed Cameron a potential future, a probable future even. Satisfied the impact would not cause unnecessary damage to himself, the Sith Lord filed the information away as something to investigate after he'd retrieved what he'd come to collect.

Footfalls from not quite black heels clicked softly first over top the smooth interior flooring of the resort, then the crunch of rubble that reached the walkaway between the makeshift hospital and the palace crackled beneath her feet. The white coat had since been replaced by a borrowed floor length robe that had seen better days. Fresh blood and death hung from the cloth fibers, but the dark hue of the garment and its larger size masked the stains quite well so it appeared only tattered. Her gait and hood-sheltered head revealed only that of confidence. It spoke nothing of gender, of a glimpse of her visage, nor any weapons within the shadows and billows her attire provided.

Anesia proceeded her short, albeit rugged trek to the Palace. Rain still fell, the clouds were strung low in the sky, and the streets were wet and bare. Vibrant violet pools stared from underneath fans of deep brown lashes and the now moist veil of the cloak. Even though her pace appeared slow at first glance, the ground she covered in a short length of time controverted the assumption. Upon entering Theed's bedraggled main point-of-interest, the good doctor was not excused from the uproar within the royal walls. Rather she was, in fact confronted with the residuum of her orchestration.

Do you need the intruder's location?

No, Ferrius replied in fervent tone, assessing the current quandary at the same time. Faded ebon robes fondled the flesh of the fallen she had to step over. What I need are my medics.

Continuing to delve deeper into the reverend establishment, the Force sought the presence she demanded, it fought to clear a path. The waves were gentle at first, as if the lick of a lover and grew to pulse when mere proximity was not enough to sate a hunger. Otherwise drained and now deceased bodies were used as shields and discarded when they became of no further use.

He's in th-

I know. But she didn't explain that she remembered Centurion's aura, his signature, his scent. No, she left out that their guest was all too familiar. Cameron had been one of the few to have ever held her trust at any one point in time. The scent of leather, metal, and war came to mind and Anesia's pout twitched.

The journey to the heart of the Royal Palace was not a particularly long one. However, given the sporadic state of repair in certain sections, the Sith Lord detoured a couple of times. Reaching the cavernous, marble-walled chamber that housed a large, functional throne behind a desk of similar stature, Cameron pulled a small device from one of the pockets of his cloak.

Casually, the Corstris native settled into the throne before placing the circular device on the holoprojector reader attached to one of the arms of the throne. Suffice to say - the Sith Lord was pleasantly intrigued when a holographic projection began to crackle to life before his very eyes. "Ah yes..." During the continuous rise and fall of both the Empire and the Rebellion, Cameron had managed to acquire a number of 'controversial' allies. It was quite often the case that individuals were routinely ripe for manipulation...so long as you allowed them to think they were in control of the relationship.

As the information on several high-ranking government officials began to populate, Cameron allowed his left hand to dance lightly over the controls on the opposite arm of the throne. Gradually, the Sith Lord began inputting codes that had been, at one point, designed by the IGBC to ensure security of accounts in times of war. Naturally, the most recent power behind Muunilinst and the IGBC had been Cameron, quite purposefully. Why come all the way to Naboo just to...redirect...the funds of some of its wealthiest inhabitants?

Quite simple. The degradation of the holonet had made such a course of action necessary. There would always be whispers...government conspiracies...schemes of the galaxy's so-called 1%. Whether Cameron had any involvement with the current state of the galaxy was irrelevant. His current position would be required either way.

Octavia was facing more problems than she'd wanted to. The main problem was providing for her family; as the eldest, the responsibility fell to her when her parents were no longer capable. The second problem was the show; smuggling was a way to deal with that. But that gave her her third problem; people. She was just so shitty at choosing them, as the current situation was proving itself to be.

Jill had totally freaked out. To the point of pushing Octavia away from the controls, stalling her from opening the damn doors. Octavia doubted either of them could survive the impact of a crash, and she didnt' want to stick around and find out, but Jill had other plans, and she was completely crazy about it too.

Which brought Octavia to her fifth problem; she was about to die, and she wasn't quite ready for it.

With strength she had no idea where it came from, Octavia punched Jill square in the face. The issue with that though, was that it was too little, too late.

The ship was already crashing, and Jill was already gone, something pointy going in through on side of her head and coming out through the other.

Octavia screamed as she was knocked backwards, rolling through the tiny hall of the ship and everything around her went dark.

The first thing she smelled what she hoped was just a moment later was blood. Her forehead felt sticky. But everything else felt... soft? Soft and too close for comfort. Ocatvia banged against the softness. It felt like mattresses. And they wouldn't budge. Was she in trapped in the bedroom? Was she locked up in a mad house? "H... H... Help?"

"Mmm..." her low, rich tone flowed through the chamber before the form of the Master appeared. "It has been decades since a throne held such a specimen." The marble interior seemed to soak in her voice so that it resonated. Anesia did not emerge at the throne room's maw, but instead from behind to the right from one of the few exits made for the royal house. Generally, this passage was used for duress, granting a quick escape or for the use of the Queen's entourage. In this moment, it was used to concede her access instead. It would only be her presence through the Force that would alert this predator of her proximity though. Her footfalls were feline; silent, well-placed, quick.

Deep amethyst eyes flicked first over the circular device, then to the familiar's own. One hand already at his broad left shoulder, "Please. Don't get up on account of me," the Sith said flippantly, but her power pressed against his like a fervent fever. So hot, it could have felt cold. Then. it was merely a hand, soft and warm. "I am curious. To what do I owe this pleasure, Cameron?" A head full of dark curls fell to the side as she canted her head. Surely he was not here to take Kingship. No, he was not daft. It had been some time since she had last seen him... Things could have changed.

Thin, manicured fingers lingered before dropping from his person. Anesia's eyes never leaving his, only changing to more of an appreciative, rapacious glance when she took a step, then two back.

Cameron's hands were still deftly moving over the controls, redistributing wealth as he deemed necessary when the ground beneath the plush throne rocked as explosions rippled around the large Royal Palace. The Palace itself had been reinforced for the purposes of withstanding attack, but it was hard for any construction to truly stand up to a spacecraft slamming into it at terminal velocity. To the credit of the architects, most of the damage was undoubtedly isolated to one of the main spheres of the Palace. However, the feeling and noise told Cameron that the crash had happened in relatively close proximity.

Just as a few cracks began to snake partially across the vaulted ceiling of the throne room, the Sith Lord heard...a voice that triggered several memories. Still...it was the presence, the feeling that had drawn ever closer which sparked his interest. Allowing his gaze to shift from the ceiling back to the holographic display before him, Cameron continued his work.

No sooner had the Sith Lord completed his task and deactivated the system before the soft impression of flesh against his shoulder replaced the ever-more interesting feeling of a powerful presence pressing firmly against his own. There were...precious few entities that could even approach sparking a feeling of desire and longing in him by little more than a presence. Two of them...had given birth to his daughters.

Silver-green eyes lifted to meet the amethyst orbs of his visitor. Yes. His visitor...even if only because Cameron had been reborn little more than a year ago. He had repurposed with a greater arrogance and ability than he'd ever truly commanded in the past. This, he supposed, was his birthright, the legacy of his father and the many fathers before him. At the same time, he remained...detached, unconcerned with the many trivial machinations of the galaxy. The maddening reality of the galaxy, however, was that maintenance of such trivial matters would forever be required to connect with those that held them in high regard. This...subtle hint of slavery was the last conquest he intended to rid himself of, and such a freedom was a gift that Cameron would give to all.

How charitable of him.

Rising from his seat, the Sith Lord briefly adjusted the blood-stained cloak that hung loosely around his frame. Managing a roguish grin, Cameron afforded Anesia a polite half-bow. "Anesia Jy Vun..." The words were spoken slowly as if he were saying them for the first time, tasting every syllable. His piercing gaze swept her form slowly prior to permitting an almost involuntary nod of appreciation. "You are wrong." Graceful, purposed strides seemed to allow the Sith Lord to glide across the short distance between them.

When their bodies were separated by little more than perhaps a few inches, Cameron looked down at Anesia slightly as his hands traced the curves of her body without actually making contact. The arcane Sith tattoo adorning his exposed chest shifted and contracted with his movements. The deep baritone of his voice was softer now, but the incredibly short distance between them caused the dulcet tones to vibrate within his chest. "You are wrong because a throne held such a specimen but a few short months prior to now." There was no sense of longing to his words or expression. Cameron Centurion was certainly not nostalgic for days past. "As for pleasure..." The Sith Lord inhaled deeply as he leaned in just far enough to lightly brush against her body to whisper in her ear. "During our meetings, it is always mine."

Recoiling slightly, Cameron took a step to his right to open the distance between them just a touch. Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked around the alluring figure that was Anesia Jy Vun, allowing his eyes to roam as they pleased. Should Anesia desire to entertain herself with his thoughts, she would find...most of his surface thoughts completely unguarded. Completely unguarded...and completely unrelated to anything other than that which he desired most in that particular moment. Her.

"What brings you to Naboo, Anesia? A desire to...see a world still struggling to reflect the natural beauty you exhibit with no effort?"

There were many things Anesia was known for; shame was not amongst those. When the host came to his full height, her gem-like gaze dropped only to crawl north once more up the entirety of him. Were they strangers, it could have been taken as vulgar. Perhaps it still held some. "As if a title makes a man," the Sith responded, having just lingered at the exposed flesh the cloak of his revealed. Cameron would find that her pointer finger moved to rest as a feather along his lips and her curiously lit violets were cast up to meet his once more, "Emperor." The last was a purr.

As the diminutive of the two, she used her shorter and albeit curvier frame to appear innoxious when she invaded his space. The line that was once between them withered and it was only skin against a thin layer of clothing."A palace, a throne... those are things," she paused, full lips pulling to the left, warm breath along his chest. "We have so many things, Cameron." It was her cheek then and Anesia rested flesh against flesh. "Wouldn't you agree?" Even as the master illusionist prevented his move for respite, she also tangled her assiduous fingers into his unusually dingy apparel. Only for seconds more though, as if not to dampen his confident, male ambience she favored. "Let's be fair. You held the throne, it hardly held you. As much can be said for before the proverbial dictation and after."

It was she who stepped away, granting his reprieve. Decadent, undressed tiers twisted into a faint, knowing smile and she closed her eyes when his voice hit her ears so close, savoring the feeling along her lobe. As if to prepare her mouth for speaking, to allow words to slide effortlessly, Anesia ran her tongue along her lower lip, "Was it all yours... really?" With a few taps of her heels, the Sith Lord habitually placed her bottom in the very throne he excused himself from. Upon obtaining comfort, the Naboo-born beauty crossed one long limb over the other, posture perfect. Violets observed him while she indulged in the phantom scent he left behind, fingertips caressing the arms of the chair in small circles.

In those moments, she chose to take a stroll through his mind. Casually, as if she had been there before. As if she belonged and did not plan to leave. Amethyst orbs reflected a white, hot heat. Possession. As always, she wanted more and it was uncertain even with the flush of her cheeks, just what exactly she wanted more of. "What do you know of my desires, Cameron Centurion?" Her voice was low, wet whispers. It was fluid and silk, demanding resolution.

Cameron's silver-green gaze focused intently on Anesia's presence as he felt the gentle brush of her existence against his mind. Like the minds of many that had seen much and done more, Cameron's mind was a vast expanse. While so much of his life remained locked behind barriers and blocks that he'd held in place for the entirety of his existence, there were others that gave-way at even the slightest pressure. However, with Anesia, a great many of them opened of their own accord, inviting her in, begging her to witness and experience their every pleasure and pain.

The question that drifted forth from the woman that had fitted herself quite elegantly into the throne of Naboo brought forth a seemingly indifferent shrug from the Corstris native. "Anesia... Please." Casually, the Sith Lord stepped forward, returning to the side of the throne upon which Anesia currently rested. Gazing intently at the woman, he offered the only response she should have hoped to expect. "Your desires are scarcely my concern... I've never much been one to occupy myself with the needs of others."

Motioning to the cavernous room around them, Cameron continued. "Your presence here is not what intrigues me...nor is it the almost ethereal mist that I can feel pulsing through your body. You know the type I refer to...a feeling of your own presence being rebuffed by the soul of another. I know the sensation all too well. No, Anesia, rest assured the only thing that intrigues me is the endlessly alluring nature of your very being. It's an intrigue that transcends time and space."

Repositioning his body to the back of the throne, the Sith Lord gently placed his hands upon Anesia's arms as he leaned his head down to offer his own purr into her ear. "Your pleasure, on the other hand..."

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A number of mercenaries still literred about areas of the Royal Palace arrived near the scene of the spacecraft crash perhaps five or so minutes after it had occurred. After battling their way through debris and flames from the wreckage, they managed to clear a way into the large room the spacecraft had careened into.

Lights from the weapons of the four men swept across the room with experience, clearly the individuals closer to the interior of the Palace were not mere street thugs. "Check that corner!"

"We're clear sir."

"Got a live one over here boss."

The leader of the group made his way over to the area, immediately met with the form of Octavia in an area the other mercenary had obviously cleared of debris. "Well then."

"Entertainment for the night boss?"

"Get her up. Take her to the doctors. They may be able to use her."

The other three men followed the orders as the leader of the group contacted the doctors that had been doing...whatever they'd been doing. No doubt someone would eventually inform Anesia. Not that she needed to know a vessel had just crashed into another section of what remained of the Royal Palace.

It was her turn to smile, cockily, drawing attention to her mouth. Anesia did so after his shrug and slightly mirrored the movement with much smaller shoulders, "Please what?" The Sith found the thin fingers of her left hand had buried themselves in her mass of dark waves much like her frame had nestled deeper into the throne's plush confines. Of course she was only taunting him... just a little. Reaching with her otherwise unoccupied hand, a single digit worked the chiseled curve of his jaw and her thumb moved to swipe across his plump bottom lip. It was an indolent gesture, as if the touch granted more than contact. Perhaps it offered a little taste, just enough and not; much like pleasure without desire. Almost, not quite.

It left one unsatisfied. Maybe it should, her ghost voice whispered through the Force to him.

Before Anesia said anything more, her head canted and the slight shift in position put Cameron's mouth at the corner of hers- the Nabooian's very own digit a rift between the press of lips, the tangling of tongues. "Is that how this works... mmm?" Falling from the silken confines of her raven hair, her hand grasped one of his smooth arms that rested upon her own and gave a tug. It would compel the Sith Lord to transpose from the rear of the throne to the front granting both a better view and... access. The smile darkened and Ferrius took her time exploring the depths of this man's mind with her own; an electric, velvet soft caress of a connection.

The gaze that captured him now was colored with mischief and in a matter of seconds, Anesia exploited the shared network of power, lust, and intrigue. It was the Force and control- the finesse of a Master able to shape the environment. Subterfuge at it's finest. She projected lust. As one thought, so did the other and distortion began. She collected and combined their imaginations, their desires. The lines blurred and the scene down to the touch, the scent was created and then, produced to replace reality for a time on a stream constructed entirely of the Force and her will. Cameron's wide shoulders had been met by the cool exterior of the desk, his garment having been removed to reveal his naked chest and the woman's frame hovered above his nearly as exposed. Her knees were tucked just at his ribs, arms strewn just alongside his neck so that her hands framed his face at first. Ancient ink set off the pale bronze of his skin, opposite of her cream white and it seemed to dance under the attentive attention of her soft exploring fingers. He had gripped her then, the expanse of his palms stretched across her ample bottom. Centurion had rose, half sitting, body meeting hers, conforming really. That was when his lips found her throat and need grew like a fire being fed. The seductive, dark scent of musk, wild roses, and woods flooded the air and her mouth would be found to be warm, tasting of the forbidden, exotic juice of fruit from some faraway world. It would, when her lips finally found his and suddenly the feel of her was everywhere, the scent sticky, intoxicating.

In reality, the Sith was still decorating the throne; the fabric of the cloak had been parted though, revealing a glimpse of feminine curves entrapped in a charcoal gray corset and a skirt that stopped just above the knee. And he... Cameron still loomed directly in front of her like some powerful, beautiful beast as the scenes played before him. ,"Cam" just like that, the manipulation receded and he would find that Anesia was not above him, but staring up from the seat she had been in.

"Desire, pleasure... are best when paired," her finger hooked at his waistline and she drew him closer that way.

___

Meanwhile, on the side of the Royal Palace, nearly half of a corridor was taken out before it halted in one of the great rooms. The structure gaped there, oozing nothing more than dust and exhaust from a craft that had crash landed. Both hospital staff and security were present, bodies were being cleared whether dead or alive, rubble swept aside.

"Vitals are... ," a voice came, "it appears a lung is partially collapsed. Put her on priority stat." Octavia had been slid to a gurney and lifted to be carried off.

A tall, thin man with gaunt eyes appeared, the blues twinkling, "I'll see to it that she is well taken...care of. Run the vessel, check for any other survivors... numbers, information of importance. With any luck, there will be contact information aboard. Recover what you can." Then he smiled, but it wasn't pretty and his teeth were entirely too white, skin stretched a little too tight.

As Anesia positioned to draw their lips closer together, Cameron merely allowed a subtle smirk to rest on his lips. Staring intently into the amethyst pools of her Anesia's eyes, Cameron continued to freely grant that which the woman probed for in his mind. It was little more than a few passing moments before the shared network of thoughts and images between them both began to slowly grasp hold of their conscious minds.

For Cameron's part, he had experienced things like this in the past, but he was hardly what he would consider to be a master of mental manipulation. There was quite a large difference between forcing others to bend to your will by forcefully affecting neural functions controlling motor skills and...altering their entire view of reality. The sensation reminded him of another...even if only briefly.

A soft, long breath of air escaped Cameron's lips just as the illusion drifted from his mind, and he was returned to the present. The sound of Anesia's actual voice touched his ears when she spoke his name, but the fog was still lifting over the pair of Sith. It was the subtle maneuvering of a single digit, drawing him closer that spurred Cameron into action.

As if there was any distance yet left between the two, the large Sith allowed the seated to pull him closer before stopping...somewhat abruptly. By now, his lips rested gently against her own and his body loomed completely within her reach. "Yet...anticipation keeps the mind sharp - for what follows when desire and pleasure truly meet?" He had seen her power over others...whether intentional or not. Fact she had been the only woman he knew to...tame a man he once thought untamable. It mattered little.

Recoiling slowly, Cameron smiled thinly at Anesia. "Timing, unfortunately, rules all." For all of the desire he certainly had for Anesia Jy Vun...both in the past in present, there was one that eclipsed said desire. There was a hunger that the Sith Lord found himself constantly yearning for...he was just delaying its acknowledgment. This hunger was no weakness, no crutch that inhibited him from being the person he was.

It was simply a part of him...an acceptance of a true reality.

Walking backwards until he was able to sit on the edge of the desk, Cameron leaned backwards slightly against his hands. "What is it you really want from your time here, Anesia? I am...most curious."

The warmth of Cameron's lips... she borrowed that from him and in exchange, his would burn from the absence of hers once he broke contact. Jy'Vun was, after all, the attentive type. The woman was selfish in the ways Sith were, insatiable though and adamant. During her time in the Galaxy, she had made it a point to learn how to obtain just what she wanted through various means . He being such a formidable opponent made it that much more... tantalizing. There was nothing quite like having every sense actively engaged. "You speak as if you know,"but, you do not."What follows when they truly meet?" The metaphysical fingers combed his thoughts, caressed even, from the inside out.

By no means was she done with their reunion. This much was noted when Anesia stood and the weight of the robes once more enclosed the frame of the Sith Master. It gave her the appearance of floating in time with his steps towards the desk until she was pressed faintly against him, pinning his hands he so thoughtlessly sat upon. Clearly it was not enough to restrict his movement; it would be easier to notice when he decided to though.

"Clarify all," one slender, stem of a leg inserted itself between his thicker limbs- the other, just on the outside of his right, entrapping the one. It gave the illusion of a makeshift seat given his position, and when she perched there, Anesia felt the muscles of his thigh just under the fabric of his pants. A casual smile appeared before leaning in, pressing her cheek to his. "I never knew you to be so... craven," just at the lobe, the soft skin of her lips brushed as she spoke. "You always were one to finish what you started."

Tilting her head just so, the cascade of raven-russet strands tumbled to dress her left shoulder and fall along his own. "I could tell you I want to rule...just like everyone else..." her mouth moved, this time it was drawn to be more devilish. It was not something Centurion could see, but rather, he could feel it.

Cameron remained perfectly still as Anesia took...something of an unexpected action. While the two had only interacted on a handful of occasions, it had never been in such a...manner. In fact the two Sith had rarely traded more than the innocent jest about pleasures unfulfilled. Their lives had run very different courses, but said lives had always seemed to be in parallel, the accolades of one never truly escaping the notice of the other.

As Anesia played at pinning him in his present position, Cameron kept his silver-green gaze locked on her smooth facial features. When she leaned in to bring them cheek-to-cheek, the Sith Lord's gaze settled on the Naboo horizon, visible through the armored glass that decorated part of the rear of the throne room. Though he heard every word the alluring Sith Master uttered, Lord Ashmedai decided the benevolent conversation had grown to create a level of...disinterest.

No sooner had Anesia's lips stopped moving than a surge of power erupted through the Sith Lord's mind and body. If there were indication of the approaching tide, it was quickly overshadowed by the undeniable strength of the indication's present reality. In a flash, Cameron had reoriented their bodies such that Anesia's back was planted firmly atop the surface of the desk. Both of Cameron's hands held on to the woman's waist as they pulled Anesia's groin firmly against his on. Leaning forward slightly, Cameron allowed his left hand to snake up the center of Anesia's body, beneath the folds of her cloak. "All requires no clarification..."

Cameron's large frame began to press firmly against Anesia's upper body, contraction of the muscles in his stomach easy enough to be felt by the woman. "Timing controls..." The word dissipated into the still air around them as full lips pressed firmly against the deceptively tender lips of Anesia and powerful arms reoriented along her body to practically consume her entire physical presence.